Untitled
by Hanako Miyuki
Summary: A few years after the war, and the pilots aren't the same due to a small incident that happened... aw forget it. Juts read it. It's weird.


Untitled

By [Hanako][1]

Disclaimers apply, don't even _think_ about suing. 

**This is a big WHAT IF fic, basically AU, that spurned from something I cooked up during an hour and a half of Biology class, semi-based on a fic I read way back when, so blame the Calvin Cycle and the Non-Cyclic Photophosphorylation on this fic. ^_~**

**OK… you would be a little bit confused when you read this, but it's because this fic is sort of like an 'epilogue' to a _really_ long epic fic that I'm too lazy to write. Anyway, you'll come across the plot because someone will tell someone what happened. ^_^**

I'm sorry I'm just too damned lazy to write the story and make this a sequel epilogue thingy, but I hate writing multi-parts and I might be writing a possible Mary Sue. ^_^ Anyway, if anyone's interested in making the 'series', go ahead and do it, but I'd appreciate it if you tell me and credit me for the idea, ok? [I know I said blame Bio, but this part doesn't count. ^_~] I just really wanted to write this one anyway.

Enjoy! ^_~

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***-*-*-*-***

** **

I first saw him while I was shopping downtown on an errand for Mrs. Helmont [1]. He was silent, inconspicuous even, and I wouldn't have noticed him. But somehow, those all too familiar olive green eyes just jumped out at me from a quiet corner in the busy store. He was staring at me; I just knew it. I stared straight back, of course, the similar green orbs locked on a staring competition, mine daring to defy his, his guardedly acknowledging mine. It was like that for a few minutes, both of us searching each other's eyes, neither finding anything. We just stared. He finally slinked back into the shadows, and I felt a surge of pride in knowing I've stared him down, whoever that stranger was.

I continued on in my errand with but little thought of the peculiar man, but something was tugging at the back of my mind. I guess I was being paranoid again, so I willed myself to push him out of my mind, for the time being.

When I came home, the house was quiet, as it always is, and I set about preparing dinner. It was my birthday, and I turn a full twelve years, but no one seemed to care. Even I don't. I guess, when you come into the world at around the same time someone else dies, the start of your existence is kind of overthrown by the end of another's. I've even started dreading the time my birthday comes, I know it only reminds everyone else of the death of my mother. Especially Dad.

I think Dad never really got over Mom's death. And he's never really gotten over the fact that I'm here. I think he hates me… or he hates the way I look. Soft brown hair, jade eyes… I guess I remind him too much of my mother. I sure don't remind anyone else of him… though I've never seen my mother before. Dad refuses to talk about it when I ask, so I've since stopped trying to get some info out of him, and I'm too self-conscious to ask his friends.

That's another thing. All three of his ex-co-pilots are still around, but they never pay attention to me. It's not that I'm asking for it, but it would help if they'd let me know a little about my parents. Whenever they come around and visit, all they ever do is check on Dad to see if he's already killed himself yet, or if he's still remembered he's got a daughter to take care of. And when they look at me, they look at me with pity. Their eyes hold an indescribable sadness I myself cannot explain, like they think I'm a sorry little girl for not being raised up properly. I hate that so much, because aside from the fact that they're rubbing in the harsh reality that my childhood is anything but normal, they make it look like I'm incapable… like I'm a weakling. Well, they're wrong. I'm pretty proud of the fact that I've managed to do pretty well without my dad or my mom… and their pity is the biggest insult anyone can throw at me.

Hn. Either way, I just remain silent, introverted. I won't let them see any weakness, because I hate their existence and their pity. And when they come check on dad, I think they're too overbearing. The only thing I know about dad is that he used to be a pretty good Gundam pilot during the war, and I think his co-pilots are underestimating his stability as a person. I know that, just like them, dad was trained to survive the toughest of tests, and I credit his still being alive to that training, as far as I know.

Dad finally came into the small kitchen, shuffling about in a depressing way… like he is most of the time. Sometimes, no matter how solid my vindication is that he's still strong enough to go on in life, I can't help but think that he's just lost all strength to even think about pulling the trigger. I know he's my dad… but he's just so pathetic to look at. Another reason I insist on being so independent. I don't want to turn up like him.

'Dinner's ready,' I offered nonchalantly. He barely acknowledged me as he seated himself on the table and put some food on his plate. He looked as disheveled as always, his long braid limp and lifeless and strands of chestnut hair falling over his cobalt eyes.

We ate dinner in silence, both of us deep in thought. Actually, just me deep in thought, you never really know with dad. I peered at him from behind my long bangs. He just looks so tired, sometimes I just wish he'd actually get the nerve to kill himself and end his misery. It's obvious he no longer wants to live; he has since lost interest in a lot of things ever since the war ended and I was born, but he just keeps on living, hanging on. I don't know whether to admire him or hate him for that.

After dinner, we both did our chores in silence, again. He fixed the table and I washed all the dishes while he went out to do all the mysterious things he does while alone. As I suspected, the topic of my birthday never came up. If it hadn't been for my insensitive curiosity while still a child, I would never have even known when my birthday was. He would never have bothered to tell me. He never bothers to tell me anything.

Having nothing else to do, for once, I roamed around the house, finding myself inside the attic. It's one of my favorite places… I often think here. Basically, it's empty, just an old dusty bookshelf filled with old dusty books I don't even bother to read, and a medium-sized supposedly antique trunk with a large padlock which I never bothered to pick. I don't think I'll see anything interesting in them anyway.

I went over to my favorite part of the room, happy to have been found with extra time for myself, and lied down on the hard floor. I let my thoughts wander, and I found myself lulled by the gentle calls of Sleep.

I must have slept for quite some time because when I woke up, I was all mussed up on the floor. I never really was a still sleeper, I suppose. 

I don't really know what prompted me to do so, but I found myself overcome with the urge to explore the attic. I've been living in the house all my life, but I have yet to know its secrets. I dismissed the urge to poke around as under the category of boredom… I never really was a still and silent child. I scanned the room with precision, my childlike instincts to let my enthusiasm show as it had never before, what with me stifling it every now and then lest I let my guard down in front of Dad's domineering friends, winning out over my pseudo-maturity air which obligates me to try and stop any show of feeling. 

'To hell with letting my guard down', I had thought, 'No one's watching anyway.'

My first target for inspection had been the bookshelf. It had housed a ton of old, boring books since forever, and I had thought it fit to give the rickety piece of wood a thorough assessment. So there I was, a child of twelve, finally giving in to curiosity, snooping in through every nook and cranny of the bookshelf, quickly scanning the books in case I find something interesting.

'The War of AC 195: A Complete Account of the War of the Colonies and the People Involved'. _That_ one caught my eye.

I carefully pulled out the book, and came face to face with a small box. The box itself looked old and worn, though left alone in the lonely attic for heaven knows how long, judging from the amount of dust covering it. It looks like a jewelry box to me, what with its exquisite carvings of Chinese origin. Idly I wonder if dad knew about this box, and why he's kept it up here. Curiosity overcame me, and any thoughts of reading the book disappeared as I took a hold of the little container, opening it easily and waiting to find out what it held.

The first thing I saw was a picture of my dad with Heero, one of his pilot friends who just keep insisting on coming back to our house despite Dad's cool indifference and my defiant rejection. They looked so young and happy, I think, notwithstanding the reality of war as it stains their innocence and youth. Dad was wearing a smile, and I found it hard to believe that it was, in fact, him I was staring at and not some unheard of twin who has a much better disposition in life. Heero, although wearing a frown, had a twinkle in his eye as my dad grinned at the camera. Strange, I had always pictured my father to be a cold cruel bastard during his time… as he seems to be now, but I suppose I know nothing at all.

The next picture was of a beautiful woman who seemed to be born out of lithe grace and unconscious daintiness. If I was a fool, I'd have thought her to be my mother, but this girl had long jet-black hair, dark chocolate eyes, and pale soft skin, giving her an exotic beauty I surely do not see in me. She was looking at the camera, staring at me, with a genuine mirth one might think strange to see in a war-torn land. She seemed to be so happy, and for a moment I wished that she really were my mother.

I shuffled through the rest of the pictures quickly, hoping to find a portrait of my dad's wife. Instead I saw several images of my dad with his ex-comrades, smiling and looking happy for all he was worth, and of the same stunning woman almost always at his side. Almost all the pictures were torn at some places; I imagined it to be an effect of Time's aging abilities. One particular picture caught my eye, one of him and the woman standing together somewhere, his hand protectively clutching hers, her head leaning on his shoulder. They almost look like a couple.

'Must be an old girlfriend.'

I picked up the last picture, that of dad and Heero and the lady, only to find pieces of torn up paper beneath it. I quickly spilled them to the floor, kneeling before them, attempting to rearrange them in the way they were before someone decided to shred it to pieces. I found that some parts were missing, presumably thrown into someplace far away from my prying reach, but I still managed to come up with something.

It was another snapshot of dad's youth shared with his friends, and though I've put together only a fraction of the image together, I immediately recognized a shock of mustard brown hair and a pair, I mean, a single, emerald eye. It was the man I saw downtown, I just knew it!

*-*-*-*-*

I hope I will see him again today.

I walk along the bustling street cautiously, my usual purposeful gait replaced by a more leisurely one. After yesterday, I resolved to myself that I would find out who the stranger is, and who he was to my dad. I look around, straining my eyes to zoom in on any distinct movement, searching for a certain mustard-colored head. After quite some time of looking, I find myself losing hope. I had almost been certain… no… I really _believed_ he'd still be here… somewhere… but I guess that, once more, I've proven myself ignorant. I clutch the old book in frustration. Not having the time to check it out yesterday, I had decided to bring it here today, just in case.

I almost stop the search completely, labeling it as paranoia on my part, when I catch sight of him again. I see his guarded stare, watching me, observing me from an almost unseen corner of a café. Had he been scrutinizing me all this time? I find myself irritated to see his bemused expression at my almost frantic search.

Nevertheless, I console myself with the thought that the time I spent hunting him downtown had not been for naught. I walk toward him nonchalantly, and he continues to sit there, waiting to see what I would do. I reach his table, and take a seat without uttering a word. He continues to look on. I can tell he's amused at me, and I don't blame him; I myself am surprised at my own actions.

Not wanting to make this second meeting like the first, I speak, starting the awaited conversation.

'Who are you?' It is more of a demand than a proper greeting, but curiosity got the better of me.

'Why do you need to know?' His face, like mine, shows no expression.

'Because it seems to me like you know me, and I find it unfair to see that I have not met you yet.'

'Is that reason enough for me to reveal myself to you? After all, I may just be a random stranger mocking a little girl.'

'I am not a little girl.' I see he is testing my patience, but I won't let him get the better of me. 'And you are not a random stranger.'

'What makes you say that?'

'You know my father.' I push forward the hastily glued together picture with him and my father, as if to prove my theory and wipe away his doubts, if he had any.

He seems to approve of this action, and asks me again.

'Why do you really want to know who I am?'

I cringe. I suppose my reason sounded lame to him.

'Because I do not know a lot of things I'd want to know.'

'And what do you want to know?'

'Your name would be one.'

'Triton Bloom.'

'I assume you already know my name?'

'Deess Maxwell… Why do you wish to talk to me?' [2]

'Because I cannot talk to anyone else.'

'What about your father? Or his friends?'

'His friends are patronizing. They look at me with pity. And dad is on a limbo between the living and the dead.' I cannot believe that with the way I deal with Dad and all his so-called friends, I am telling this to a man I hardly even know.

'Oh? Are you talking about Duo?'

'Yes. And Quatre and Wufei and Heero, too.'

'I find that hard to believe.'

'That dad could be so depressing?'

'Hai.' He leaned back on his chair, wearing an expression that seemed to be a mix of thoughtfulness and wistfulness. It was a while before he talked again.

'Do you want to know anything else?' I nod eagerly; he seems much helpful now, more genuine.

'Yes. I want to know who this woman is.' I place one of the pictures of the lady in front of him. He looks at me with a strange face.

'That is your mother. Didn't Duo inform you about her?'

'My mother? But… I had always imagined her to be a mirror image of me!'

Is that resignation I see in his eyes? Or regret of what was? I'm not so sure… but he suddenly seems hesitant, uncomfortable.

'Yes. She is your mother… It is true you do not look like her at all… because you look like me.'

Had it not been for the fact that the busy café had appeared to have abruptly quieted down, I would never have heard the last part of his statement, barely whispered to the passing air. And had it not been for the fact that I was too interested in the subject of the woman who turned out to be my mother, I would never have realized the meaning of his words.

I snap my head back to look him the eye in quiet wonder… probing his eyes, silently asking him if what I had just heard was true. He looks back and affirms my thoughts without saying anything. I silently smack myself in stupidity. How could I have not noticed? The same shade of brown hair… dull green eyes… Who else could he be?

It was quite some time before I was able to digest the newfound information. I am surprised that I am able to accept it at all, and just like that. I guess I had been expecting something like this before, what with the way Dad and the other ex-pilots dealt with me, but I hadn't quite imagined it to be like _this_.

'So… you are my true father?' I ask hesitantly, showing him… no… my father… uncertainty after carefully guarding any sort of emotion from coming through to him in the length of our conversation.

He had probably been expecting this day to come to pass, too, for he hung his head in resignation and solemnly nodded.

'How? Why?' I barely whisper. Explanations, I reckon, are direly needed at the moment.

*-*-*-*-*

It was quite some time before he was able to compose himself. I suppose, that when you have avoided a horrible past [I can only guess it to be horrible with the way his dull expression seems to crack under all the memories] for such a long time and suddenly you come across it once more… Oh, but he should know better. I think he has been trying to get up the nerve to confront his memories, and if it hadn't been for me showing up unexpectedly he wouldn't have been able to deal with it for a very long time, too.

Finally, he seems ready to talk. I look at him patiently, for even a child sees that sensitivity needs to be in check in such a situation as this.

He looks at me, his olive orbs, for the first time since I met him, suddenly open with emotions… unguarded… My own eyes remain impassive. Now is not the time to show anything.

I urge him to speak with a nod of the head.

He turned to the pictures I had shown him, pointing to the image of the woman.

'She is your mother, Syv Maxwell.' [3]

I do not interrupt just yet, even though his first statement confuses me already; I know he has something else to say.

'He is your mother's husband, Duo Maxwell.'

I nod my head weakly. So it was a case of infidelity, after all.

'That is not all', he says quietly, as if sensing my thoughts.

'Then tell me.'

'I assume they have told you about the war, and the Gundam pilots?'

'Even if they haven't, I have this book.' I pull out the big book from where it was resting on my lap.

He scanned through it briefly, nodding his head at some parts, frowning on others.

'I suppose you weren't a pilot? I read through some last night; Heero Yuy, Duo Maxwell, Trowa Barton, Quatre Winner, Chang Wufei.'

'I am Trowa Barton; I haven't used that name since I found out that I am, in truth, Triton Bloom.'

I frown at myself, and at the inaccuracy of the book. I guess they have reason to be inaccurate, they never truly realized the identity of the pilots, merely asked the scientists who, I'm willing to bet, gave only some of the information.

'Oh.' I manage to mutter.

'Let me tell you about the war.'

I frown. What has the war got to do with him being my father? Even so, I wait for him to speak.

'The war was a desperate thing. Especially on our side. The scientists trained five Gundam pilots, us, specifically to win the war. Fighting and killing left no room for emotions. It applied specifically for us trained terrorists. We were born and raised for destruction. It was the only way of living we knew. We lived solely for our missions… to safeguard the people.'

I keep listening.

'However, I suppose that no great amount of training could have surpassed the will of Fate. Duo met your mother, and they fell in love.'

I nod again, wondering where this was going to lead.

'Your mother… she proved to be fatal… a weakness to us pilots.'

'What happened?' I ask.

'She was captured by OZ. They suspected her to have some connection with the Gundam pilots, and they wanted her to talk. Duo was beside himself with worry and rage, I imagine. And he had reason to, because OZ would stop at nothing to get what they want. She underwent physical, mental, and emotional torture of the worst kind. And Duo could do nothing… the scientists wouldn't let him; they said it might jeopardize my mission.'

'Your mission?' He looks at me straight in the eye now, before resuming to stare at faraway space, as if in a trance, caught up in memories.

'Yes', he says, his voice seemingly distant, 'I was under the guise of an OZ soldier back then, attempting to infiltrate their systems and acquire valuable data for the sake of our cause. I was also one of those who had captured her.'

'But… she was your friend… you knew her, didn't you?' I look at him strangely, daring not to believe that even friendship holds no significance in war.

'Yes. We knew each other; had been acquaintances because of Duo.'

'Then why did you…?' I let my voice trail off, not trusting it to speak for it might betray my emotions.

'My commanding officers had already become suspicious of me, despite the fact that Lady Une had grown fond of me and my skills as a soldier. Any hesitation on my part would not have done me good, and may have sabotaged the mission.'

'Oh…'

'They decided to let me handle her interrogation 'personally', because she would not yield to their demands. She was soaking with blood, and her body lashed with wounds, yet she refused to admit that she knew any of the Gundam pilots. My superiors thought it would bring them great entertainment, and further evidence that I am not to be suspicious of, to make me 'coax' answers out of her.'

I eye him warily. 'What do you mean?'

He takes a deep breath before answering.

'They requested me to break her, in front of them.'

I gasp silently, skeptical.

'I had no choice. It was either that, or abort the mission. Syv understood the vitality of me executing the mission without flaw.' He bows his head morosely.

'What happened?'

'Duo found it hard to obey the scientists. He broke in the base, my mission still unfinished, and made the most daring rescue. Thankfully, he succeeded,' He pauses for a while before starting again, 'It was quite a long time before she fully recovered from her wounds. Duo was at her side the whole time. You couldn't tell which of them suffered more from the whole ordeal.'

'And…?' I prompt him; I know he has more to say.

'Soon after we found out she was with child.' He looks at me with that expression I find hard to decipher.

'What did… what did Dad—Duo do?'

'He married your mother, giving no thought to what I did to her. It was an unspoken agreement that no one was to ever talk about the incident, although I could sense Duo's hatred.'

'And the other pilots?'

'Wufei and Heero… I know they would have done the same had they been in my position. Quatre… he was disappointed. I suppose it was that disappointment that struck through me the most. I left them shortly after the war.'

'You said so yourself. It was a war; people didn't have a choice.' I say in an attempt to comfort him.

He looks at me, and smiles a little. I smile back. It's funny to have both of us opening up to each other like this, so open and honest and unashamed, when we just met. Is this what some would refer to as the family ties that still hold you no matter where you are or how long you haven't seen each other? I don't know.

'And what happened to my mother?' I ask, now eager to know more.

'She died while giving birth to you. Sixteen years is too young for pregnancy.'

'Did you love her?' I blurt out.

'No,' he says simply, 'She was truly just a friend.'

A long, uncomfortable pause once again ensues, and we are both silent for a long time, both of us deep in thought. I sit fidgeting; imagining what life was like for all of them, what life was like for everyone else, what life was like for my mother. I gaze at him once more, mulling over this revelation. 

He speaks again, but no longer of the previous topic. This time, he asks me about life, about school, about me. I find myself flattered yet uneasy with his interest towards my life. No one has ever talked to me like this; and I realize I like this kind of attention. I have been ignored for too long, I reckon.

Time flies faster when one enjoys himself, for it is dark before we even realize it. Reluctantly I start for home, but not before we arrange to meet again.

*-*-*-*-*

As I had hoped, the following days after my meeting with my long-lost father brings me much to be happy about. He takes me everywhere, talks to me about anything, and he listens to what I have to say. It is as if we are both making up for the time we haven't been together, and went on with our father-daughter bonding. For a relatively introverted person like me, it is quite surprising to learn that I can be at ease with someone.

I soon discover many things about him, and he about me. I come across the fact that he works in the circus, to my great delight, of course, with his sister and her husband and their two-year old twins, and he stumbles upon the verity that I am part of our school's swimming team. [4]

In his presence I find solace from everything, and I realize that I cannot picture a day without his laughter echoing mine.

*-*-*-*-*

It has been weeks since that fateful day in the café, and we meet again for a walk in the park. We are both silent, contemplating things.

He breaks the silence this time, surprising me with a question.

'Are you happy?'

Without even getting over the shock, I nod emphatically.

'Were you happy before?' I do not reply.

He becomes hushed once more. I look at him questioningly.

'I will be leaving for L3 the day after tomorrow,' he states simply.

'And I will go with you,' I shoot back.

'What about Duo?'

'I'll leave him a note. He won't care. He never did.'

He peers at me from his one visible eye. Had my hate been that evident?

'It's your decision. Think about it thoroughly. I'll be in the café tomorrow evening.'

Despite his words, I know that he knows I've already made up my decision.

*-*-*-*-*

I nervously pace the length of my room, eyeing my bulging bag every once in a while. It is still mid-afternoon, yet I have finished packing my clothes already. The note is the only thing left to do.

I glance at the number of pieces of paper strewn across the floor. Writing a letter to a man who has pretended to be your father [And not doing a plausible job, at that] for the last twelve years to tell him you are running away with your real father, whom he abhors more than anything else, is no easy task. I do not even know how to address him anymore!

Should I tell him I met his ex-comrade? Should I tell him I know? Should I _still_ write him a note? He won't care, will he? I guess I'll never know.

Sighing, I sit down, this time determined to write a decent note. This would be the last time I'll be sitting in this chair, in this room, in this house. The finality of this decision just sank in.

I finish writing the note, satisfied with myself. It is late afternoon now, and I should be going to the café… to my father. I sneak out of the house without problems, darting through as if I was a burglar of some sort. There would be nothing suspicious about me going out of the house at any time of the day, but with a heavy bag? No one has to see me lest they alert Duo, wherever he is at the moment.

I finally reach the café, and he is there waiting. I run up to him eagerly, thoughts of guilt about just leaving Duo flying out of my head. He nods at me and stands up. I walk next to him as he carries my bag.

For the first time in twelve years, I make a decision that I don't regret, because it's a decision I spend with my true father. And for the first time in twelve years, I'm truly happy.

*-*-*-*-*

_Dad,_

_ _

_I hope this won't come as too much_

_a surprise for you, but I've decided_

_to leave home. I want to pursue my_

_own happiness somewhere. Please_

_do not worry about me, I'll be fine. _

_And please do not try to look for me,_

_or let your other friends look for me._

_ _

_I do not wish to be found._

_ _

_For whatever it's worth, I'd like to_

_thank you for… things._

_ _

_And for whatever it's worth, I am sorry._

_ _

_With love,_

_Deess._

_ _

***OWARI***

**[1] I got that name from Biology. That subject's just too influential, I reckon. ^_^**

**[2] Deess is the French pronunciation for 'dix', French for 'ten'.**

**[3] Syv, meanwhile, is 'seven' in some language I forgot. Seven plus three is ten, right?**

**[4] This one's for my RL friend Andy. She wanted me to include something swimming-related.**

** **

**So what did you think? Send me C&C, onegai? Just [mail me][1]. ^_^ Anyway, I hope this one's OK. Now I'm thinking of a sequel to this one, a short piece on Duo. And speaking of Duo… um… I'm sorry? I think maybe they're kind of OOC, but it's a different world with different circumstances. **

**::Sigh:: OK, I'll disappear back into the Shadows of Fandom now. Till the next fic! Ja ne!  
Finished November 11, 2000**

   [1]: mailto:%20hanako_miyuki@yahoo.com



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